


Tea and Sympathy

by Waldo



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Illness, M/M, POV First Person, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-04
Updated: 2008-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt never had anyone to take care of him when he wasn't feeling well.  He tries to be there for Brian, but frankly, he's not very good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea and Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kenaz for Yuletide 2007.  She wanted Curt/Brian.

The first time I noticed that something was wrong was right after we finished a show in Chicago. The crowd had been outrageous and Brian had been fucking on fire.

We did one encore and had planned for a second but Brian waved it off and headed back into the dressing room. I shrugged, tossed my guitar at some roadie and followed him. I was stopped for a few minutes by some t.v. star I'd frankly never heard of who wanted to meet me. Whatever.

Brian'd managed to shoo Mandy, Shannon, Jerry and everyone else into the larger 'party' room by the time I got there. I half expected him to toss me out too. He was sitting sprawled on the chair by the bright lights of the mirror, looking very much like he wanted to crawl in bed. Alone. To sleep.

"Hey man, you look 'knackered,'" I told him, doing a really lousy version of his own accent.

Brian just nodded.

"Wanna drink?" I offered as I grabbed whatever was most convenient on the small bar in the corner.

"You'll probably think me a total pansy, but right now the only thing that sounds good at all, is a hot cup of tea." His voice was raw and raspy. Nothing like the cool, silk tones I was used to. I had no fucking idea where I was going to get _tea_ backstage of a concert hall.

Just then Shannon stumbled in, looking to see if we'd be making our usual appearances in the other room. "There are a few people from the Tribune and some magazine or another," she told us.

I straddled Brian's hips and kissed his lips lightly, not really wanting to chance that I'd get whatever bug he had picked up. "I'll go talk to them. Shannon here will find you some tea." I kissed him again and then stood, giving Shannon a look that said, "don't ask, just fucking do it."

There were all of four media people out there. Not many by the standards we were used to. Over the ringing in my ears, I heard someone whisper that Jerry had chased most of them off when Brian had gone into the dressing room and gone slightly ballistic on anyone who tried to get near him. I answered the banal questions about were we _really_ lovers or was it just for the publicity, what about Brian's wife - who was right across the fucking room, so ask her yourself - new albums, joint and solo, tour dates, and all sorts of other shit I didn't care about in the least at that point.

As soon as I saw Shannon come back with a bag from restaurant nearby the stadium, I excused myself and left.

Brian hadn't moved from where I'd left him. He looked almost asleep with his eyes open. It was odd. Even when he _was_ asleep Brian exuded energy and attitude. Shannon handed him the tea and then bolted back out of the room. I began to wonder what kind of show I'd missed before I'd gotten back here. He must have been pretty pissed to still have everyone cowering like this.

Not that Brian didn't have periodic temper tantrums. It was just that most of us had learned to roll our eyes at him and ignore him.

I sat on the dressing counter and stuck my feet on the edge of his chair. He looked like he was entertaining the idea of knocking 'em down, but then must have decided it was too much effort, because he didn't do it.

"So?" I asked him after a while.

"I want to go to bed."

His voice seemed even worse. And when I looked in his eyes I could see the beginning of some real fear. Brian's voice was his life.

"So change and we'll go."

Brian looked at me like I was out of my mind.

"Yeah, I know, Jerry and his fucking parties. Screw him. If you're getting sick the last thing you need is to go in there and make everyone else sick too. Besides, if you think Jerry's gonna be pissed about you missing his party, think how pissed he'll be if we have to cancel Detroit."

Brain stared at me for a long moment. I'd always thought he put way too much stock in what Jerry said anyway. Someone needed to tell him to tell Jerry to fuck off. I mean, who was the fucking star here anyway? Sure as hell not Jerry.

I hopped off the counter and we both changed out of the sweaty stage clothes into something cooler and more comfortable.

I wasn't sure if it was for show or for actual support that Brain wrapped his arm around my waist and leaned against me as we made our way to the waiting car.

As we settled into the back seat and directed the driver to take us back to the hotel it occurred to me that Jerry would be pissed not to have his prize peacock to strut around after the show, but tough shit. I suppose we might have at least told them we were leaving, but fuck it. We're big boys.

The hotel suite in Chicago was like every other one we'd been in for the past three and a half months. Sure the colors were different, the bed was on a different wall, but basically it was the same. Someone had unpacked our things, the bar was stocked, there was some food on top of the bar, but I couldn't even look at it.

Brian collapsed across the bed completely dressed.

"Hey, at least fucking scoot over so I have some room," I chided. Brian simply rolled over. I finally sighed and went over to help him undress. Over one hundred days on the road with only a dozen or so of them without concerts or appearances or some damn thing. I shouldn't be surprised that one of us got sick eventually.

Brian was of very little help in help getting him undressed. He was basically asleep before I had him tucked under the covers. I went into the bathroom to strip and wash up a bit before bed. As I scrubbed off that plaster they call make-up I realized that Brian hadn't washed his face either. Wondering when the fuck I'd turned into a nursemaid, I ran a washcloth under warm water and woke him up long enough to make him scrub it across his face. I think it was worse after he washed his face than before. Eyeliner and mascara streaked across his cheeks, lipstick across his chin. I sighed and washed the rest of it off as best I could without soap or that oily shit they usually give us back stage.

Brian's skin was cool when I crawled under the blankets, so I pulled him close to me. He rolled over and settled his head on my chest. I laughed at him, just a little. Everyone thought our whole relationship was based on sex. And to be honest, a large part of it was. But to see us like this... him sick and all... I rolled my eyes at the two of us. What a couple of poofs.


End file.
